Disclaimer: I don't own any characters except my characters. Which are quite a few this time around. Let's try it this way: I don't own any Marvel characters that happen to show up in the upcoming chapters and which I'm sure you'll recognise without any need to name long lists.
20. Lisbon: Perfectly Fine
Isabel got off the bed, as silently as she could, and showered. Then she tip-toed into the kitchen, lit a candle next to the image of Our Lady she kept half hidden near the window and quickly went through her morning prayers. Please, please! Two more weeks, more or less, and the first trimester would be over, no sign of problems, and she could finally allow herself to believe her son might be born. She'd go to Fatima on foot, she promised, and should she happen to ever have another child, she'd return there and do the pilgrimage on her knees. She understood miracles require sacrifices and she was not afraid of sacrifices, no matter the pain, she promised Our Lady.
Victor had probably woken up when she had gotten up, but he seemed to have taken a liking to lazying up in bed whenever he could so she took advantage of it.
She was about to add the whisked eggs to the chopped bacon, ham and assorted chorizos when she heard the bed springs complain.
"You got up early," he said in Spanish. "What are you up to?"
"Good morning to you too," she turned to him with a purposefully wide smile, speaking her clearest Portuguese. "I was trying to make you a surprise breakfast in bed."
"Right. Well, I'm going to have a shower and then I'll have my non-surprise breakfast in the kitchen."
She laughed and put the bowl aside. She'd cook it once he got off the shower so the scrambled eggs were freshly made when he sat down. While she was waiting, she opened the bedroom window and started tidying the room, humming a melody.
"I'm off to the Citizen's House again today," she said aloud when she heard him turn off the water. "Shall I text you whatever new documents they decide they want?"
It was only her third trip there. The first one had been on the day after their arrival, when they were still living in the hotel. That one had led Victor to Madrid to get some papers for himself and left her all alone in Lisbon for two whole days. After his return, she had had her first doctor appointment, rented a house and visited the Citizen's House again. That second visit had forced Victor to return to Canada for five whole days in order to get official looking documents – which were actually fake, though expensively high quality, he claimed – and Isabel had taken the train to visit the countryside she so sorely missed every single one of those days. He had only returned the day before, and in a terribly rotten mood. Naturally, she'd kept quiet about her holidaying, just in case he decided he wanted to know her movements in detail, and then imagined she'd been courting danger and got even angrier. Isabel had taken it up as her mission to keep him amused and in the best of moods possible. It was the only way she could talk him into socialising.
"Those assholes have better not ask fer stuff they ain't mentioned so far." He grumbled from the bathroom in English. "One thing is ta ask fer translations, another completely different is ta say 'hey, I just remembered! Ya also need whatever!' I'll tell ya what they need: they need ta see someone gutted in front o' them as motivation ta do their job. That's what they need!"
Right. Better not text him, then.
"Can I start on your eggs?"
"Yeah, I'll be out in no time."
Isabel hurried back to the cooker and, by the time Victor returned to the kitchen, she was putting his eggs on the plate with a wide, light-hearted smile.
"There you go!"
"Ain't ya eatin' nuthin'?"
"I've already eaten," she explained, smiley, as she started washing the pan.
The smiles had started back in Canada. At the time, it had been just a way of telling him she was fine without having to say so. Especially because it had become obvious, very early on, that she'd say she was fine even when she was in obvious pain. Obviously, the man hadn't realised that she said it as much for herself as for him. Repeating that idea – I'm fine – was a sort of technique (ok, a bit crazy technique) to help her get over what was wrong. Nevertheless, it annoyed him, so she'd switched to saying the mantra to herself and giving him smiles. Of course, she couldn't force a wide smile when she was in pain, so he had quickly accepted that if she was smiling wide, she was indeed fine.
When the nightmares had become fewer and less intense, the smiles were already a habit on their way to being ingrained. And once she had arrived in Portugal, it had become so easy to have the widest smiles from dawn to midnight that it was hardly a chore to flash him delighted smiles at every turn.
Right now, though, she just wanted him to calm down enough to slide back into Spanish. After all, he had been the one saying English was off limits; that he wanted folks associating him to Spain, not America. Of course, he could fall back into the language anytime he got pissed; she got told off whenever she tried to use the language for any purpose. Whatever! She much preferred speaking Portuguese anyway.
She started drying the pan and turned to see him. It was so stupid, the pleasure she had watching him eat. Especially when he wasn't wearing a shirt. That body of his… and those eyes!
"What are you staring at?"
Ah, Spanish at last!
"Temptation," she answered. "Delicious, devilish temptation."
He shook his head and swallowed another forkful. Isabel sighed.
"I guess I should get ready for a few hours waiting on a chair. What about you? Are you going for a stroll in the city or will you be watching TV?"
Because he had been spending a lot of time inside, going over Portuguese TV shows so as to learn the language. Isabel suspected he might be repeating their lines, which explained why he wanted to be alone in the house. At least that was how he practised whatever expressions she taught him. Of course she had realised he rarely took her corrections in stride. Only if they were in between romps and he was in a particularly good mood. TV shows don't correct you.
"Yeah, something like that. I'll meet you at the Citizen's House at midday and we'll have lunch."
"Sounds good to me. Do you want to go somewhere in the afternoon?"
Victor finished off and stood up.
"Wherever you want to go. Now hurry up: I'll walk you to the place."
Isabel hesitated but then went for it: "Including a jewelery?"
That stopped him in his tracks.
"What?"
"I don't feel comfortable walking around without at least a commitment ring. I was thinking you could choose something that you think is appropriate. Nothing extravagant; no gems or anything like that. Just a gold band, really."
The man frowned.
"Why do you want a… commitment ring? What, like an engagement ring?"
More like a wedding band lookalike but it was better not to be too obvious. Victor was not a relationship-person and mentioning marriage, even if only make-belief, might have the wrong effect.
"Look, when a woman has no rings, she's in the market. You can't blame any guy for hitting on me or flirting or anything if I don't have a ring. If I have one, especially one that looks like an ad for a serious commitment, then I'm off the market and any guy that makes a move is a jerk and is in the wrong. Feel free to punch them toothless."
"Ok. So… if it looks like you're engaged…"
Victor looked at her thoughtfully, which she didn't think bode well, so she excused herself and got dressed. Her movement had a beneficial effect, since the man followed her lead and got ready to leave too.
As they walked down the narrow, winding streets of the historic part of the city, he snaked a possessive arm over her shoulders and greeted every person that looked their way with a perfect Portuguese accent. Isabel slid a hand into one of his jeans' back pockets and relaxed. That's how they usually walked around, like a freshly-married couple. She never felt nervous with crowds in Portugal. It was as if all the bad things that had happened in the recent past couldn't follow her here. Nevertheless, being under Victor's protection was still soothing.
"What time's the doctor appointment tomorrow," he asked as they entered the subway train and sat down.
"Ten in the morning."
He nodded.
He always went with her. She knew it was also about the child, that he was also, maybe not excited about it, but interested. Nevertheless, she also knew he didn't want her alone with any man, even if a doctor. He was the jealous type, after all. Still, she wasn't about to complain, especially as she did not want to be alone with any man either and she really didn't want to confess that particular weakness to Victor. She wanted him to think she'd gotten completely over the… the situation.
In fact, she hoped he always checked doctor appointment dates with her before scheduling his own journeys. He still had to work on the documents for their cover, not to mention he had a career he couldn't keep on ignoring forever. And what if a job went wrong and he had to stay away for longer than expected? Just the thought of undergoing a medical examination all on her own made her…
"You're ok?"
Isabel started and hurried a cheerful smile on.
"I'm fine! Why do you ask?"
"Nothing," but his arm tightened around her and she leaned her head on his side.
Sometimes she just felt like crying. But she couldn't do that, could she? Not even when he went away. Victor would end up smelling her tears when he returned and she couldn't risk looking even weaker than she already did. The man might have gotten in his head to claim her as his but, once he decided he had no use for a weakling… She was talking about a man that viewed weakness as a sign one isn't worthy of being alive, after all. And even though she had never considered herself weak – no one had ever considered her weak – , in his world of mutant powers and super fighting skills she was at the level of a toddler. Her only strength was getting over the abuse she'd been through. It was being cheerful and happy and willing to treat Victor like a king: fullfilling his whims and avoiding all aggravation. Or as much as possible.
"I'm perfectly fine," she said, forcing up a cheerful smile and tone.
His golden eyes focused on her, alert and resolute, attentive. Isabel wished the subway trip could last forever.
"Perfectly fine."
I know, this one was very short and I apologise. It is, however the cornerstone for much of Isabel's attitudes in the future.
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